


You Take Me Over (you're the magic in my veins)

by BeepBeepBitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3x11, F/M, Just an idea that popped into my head sorry, i've been having stydia feels all summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeepBeepBitch/pseuds/BeepBeepBitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers their conversation that day, though it seemed more like a dream. The one about blue and orange, orange and blue-a hideous combination in her mind. But to him, resting against the lockers and beholding the sight in front of him, it just became his favourite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Take Me Over (you're the magic in my veins)

**Author's Note:**

> A quick stydia drabble based on 3x11
> 
> (*prays for kudos/commens/feedback/etc.*)

  He remembers their conversation that day, though it seemed more like a dream. The one about blue and orange, orange and blue-a hideous combination in her mind. But to him, resting against the lockers and beholding the sight in front of him, it just became his favourite.

  Her hair hung in a braid over her shoulder and brushed lightly over the fabric of the dress. The sunlight streaming through the window cast an almost angelic glow over the girl, her hair catching fire and her dress turning into flowing water.

  Fire and water. Orange and blue. To think she couldn't see the beauty in two of the elements that provided just that. But he did.

  He wondered if he asked her then what she thought, about the so-called ' _horrible combination_ ', would her opinion change? He liked to imagine it would. That she would see that sometimes the most unlikely combinations turn out to be the most beautiful, most perfect ones.

  She lets out a shaky breath, the movement causing a wisp of hair that lay at the corner of her lips to swing just out of her eyesight. He wants to reach up, brush it behind her ear so its no longer leaving a fiery break on the pale canvas that was her skin-but he doesn't. He leaves the strand of orange where it cuts through the corner of her eye, contrasting with her green orbs. No, that wasn't right. Green sounded so mundane. Her irises were a deep jungle, a freshly mowed lawn, the dark thorns that complimented the rose. She was the rose, and her eyes were the thorns. Except her eyes didn't seem so sharp now-in fact they've been getting more dull as the days go by. Correction; they've been getting more soft.

  Even now, when she has never looked more meek and vulnerable-her lips parted in what seemed to be surprise, her eyes blurred by the tears the refused to fall, dark brows slanted in concern, strawberry blonde hair just slightly out of place-she has never looked more beautiful.

  The girl in front of him used to be a hard outer shell, hiding a broken girl underneath. Now she was an array of combinations, a mixture of elements. Orange and blue, and green and white. Fire and water, and earth and air. She was the definition of beauty in his eyes.

  If he hadn't already known that he was in love with her years before, he'd declare it now. Instead he just reminded himself of the reasons _why_ he did.

  And later on, after the Nogitsune, her best friends death, the deadpool, the benefactor and everything else, Lydia Martin would come to realize the exact moment she fell in love with Stiles Stilinski.  

  On the locker room floor, with the sunlight cascading through the window, illuminating whiskey coloured irises and dark moles that dusted across his sharp cheekbones like stars in the night. His eyes wide with admiration and surprise, lips parted as if he just found the secrets to the universe in her own.

  But for now, they'll act like the kiss was but a way to rid of the panic attack and nothing more.

  The next time he hears news about the Mets, their colours blue and orange, he will _not_  think of silk oceans and braided fire. The next time she's rummaging through her kitchen cabinet and spots a bottle of whiskey, she definitely _won't_  think of dark stars and illuminating sunlight.

 

  At least, thats what they tell themselves.


End file.
